


Silent Lamentation

by MercCurie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 11:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20226958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercCurie/pseuds/MercCurie
Summary: When the time came to choose, Ferdinand and Petra chose to stand against Edelgard and with Claude. They just never expected having to face so many old faces on the battlefield. Or how difficult it could be.





	Silent Lamentation

**Author's Note:**

> This came about because I recruited Ferdinand and Petra on one of my playthroughs, and I got to thinking about just how hard it might actually be for them to face their previous classmates. The game does little in the way of storytelling with this mechanic (though I can attest to the fact that Hubert has unique dialogue with Ferdinand in one of the later maps), so I thought I'd fill in some of the gaps.  
Also apologies if Petra's dialogue is a little weird, she's...very difficult to write. But I adore her, so I did my best to do her justice.  
Spoilers for Golden Deer Route, as well as some heavy discussions of character deaths, by the way. This happens before chapter 19 in the story.

“So if we attack from here-,” Claude points to a section of the map, hardly discernible from all the markings and objects scattered across it, “-we should be able to make it to the palace with few casualties. That is, of course, if His Royal Guarddog doesn’t smite us all to smithereens with a well placed spell,”

  
“You say that awfully casually, Claude! I sure don’t want that guy to get anywhere near me with his creepy dark magic! Can’t we just take him out first?” Hilda sits slumped back in her chair, arms crossed and face grumpy. She’s never been good at sitting in for the strategy meetings, Ferdinand notes. Even if she’s a surprisingly talented tactician. It won’t be long before she excuses herself with a feigned ailment, however.

  
Claude makes a tutting sound, an odd click of his tongue that Ferdinand still hardly believes is capable of coming out of the mouth of a noble. A smug grin spreads across his face.

  
“Why thank you, Hilda, for volunteering! I was just about to suggest we send a highly capable warrior to meet him head on!”

  
Hilda’s eyes bulge out of her face as she bolts up in her chair, boredom replaced with outrage.

  
“Wha-! I was just _saying_ we should axe the guy quick! I never signed up for anything! Ugh, can’t you just let me sit this one out?”

  
Claude’s laughter echoes throughout the room, bright and infectious. A quick glance around the table reveals happy faces and loose body language, Claude’s merriment no doubt influencing their own. It’s a good quality to have in a leader, the ability to turn any situation around through mood alone.

  
It’s the first time such an ability has annoyed Ferdinand.

  
“It might be safest to leave Hubert to the people who can attack from further back. If I could get into a good position, I might be able to hit him without any chance for a counterattack,” Ignatz leans forward over the map, adjusting his glasses as they slide down his nose. His brow is furrowed, hand on chin, looking for all intents like a kid asked to solve a particularly difficult problem.  
And a difficult problem it is. Which is the safest way to kill Hubert? It’s certainly not a question Ferdinand thought he’d ever need to answer, nor is it one he wants to answer.

  
Regardless, for some reason Ferdinand has always liked Ignatz. He’s kind, and a good archer. An art lover, as well. Not to mention his less than fantastic social skills, which for Ferdinand had always seemed endearing rather than irritating.

  
He knows exactly why he likes Ignatz, but he’d prefer not to think of it.

  
_The first time he ever saw Bernadetta smile had been when he gifted her a landscape painting he found while doing errands. It had startled him with how happy she seemed to be, for once not caught up in babbling about hidden agendas and people hating her. She had thanked him profusely, talking about how much she loved it and how she swears she’ll repay him for it. Her smile had been blinding, and he recalls thinking she should smile more often._

  
“Heh. You’d have to hit him first. We all know your accuracy isn’t its best from far away. Give me two seconds and I can assure he won’t be smiting anyone anytime soon,” Felix smirks from where he stands behind Sylvain, the picture of confidence. In front of him, Sylvain rolls his eyes.

  
“Damn, Felix, you invent some sort of teleportation device you didn’t tell us about? Or are the hundreds to thousands of soldiers in between you and him no big deal?” he reaches forward and flicks the chess piece meant to represent Felix over on its side, enunciating the action with a meaningful look at the other man.

  
Ferdinand shifts in his seat. Had they always been so uncomfortable?

  
“Perhaps you could dance your way to him. I’m sure the Imperial soldiers will never see it coming,” Felix retorts, causing Sylvain’s face to turn a deep shade of red. Opening his mouth to protest, he’s stopped as Leonie lays a hand on his shoulder.

  
“Sylvain has a point. All this talk’s as good as useless if we can’t even get to the guy. I agree Hubert should be given priority, but we shouldn’t forget there are others on the battlefield,” she draws a circle with her finger on a central position on the map, “If the last fight was any indication, we have all the reason to suspect the Death Knight’s going to be here. Hubert’s a threat, sure, but we can’t write that guy off,”

  
It’s logical, for sure. They did their best the last fight, but the Death Knight had managed to escape amidst all the chaos caused by the pillars of light. If he’s truly working for the Empire, it’s doubtful he’d just leave Edelgard to her own devices.

  
_Caspar had wanted to fight the Death Knight more than anything after what happened in the Holy Mausoleum. They weren’t in the fight themselves, as the Golden Deer House were the ones to stake out the place, but Caspar had heard from some of the knights he trained with what happened, and for weeks afterward all he could talk about was how if he had been there that night, the Death Knight would’ve been a dead knight. Ferdinand thought him rather bigheaded for it, but he also felt respect for his confidence._

  
Claude lets out a whistle, leaning back in his chair at the head of the table, arms propped up behind his head.

  
“Hmm...who do you think is scarier? Death Knight or Hubert? Me, I’d put my money on Hubert. No guy who goes by a name like ‘Death Knight’ is actually gonna be all that scary when it comes down to it. Hubert just goes by his name and nothing else. That’s how you know that guy’s absolutely ruthless,”

  
Hilda may not be the first to excuse themselves for once, Ferdinand thinks, fiddling with his gauntlet.

  
“I hope you’re not implying we can leave the Death Knight alone on the battlefield just because of his name, Claude. Could you please try to take this more seriously?” Lysithea shoots an icy glare at the man. He doesn’t seem to notice.

  
“I am thinking Claude has some points, however. Hubert is with much power, and we have only defeated him once. The Death Knight has fallen to our blades many times,” Petra speaks up, evaluating the map with a critical eye, “Even in our academy days, Hubert could appear very frightening. Few were not scared of him,”

  
_ If there had been one thing about Linhardt Ferdinand respected (though there were many), it would have to be his complete lack of fear for Hubert. The man even gave Ferdinand chills every so often, but Linhardt had not once seemed ruffled by him. Even when Hubert’s ire was turned solely on Linhardt, the man had not seemed to care one bit. Whether it was courage or laziness that prevented Linhardt from caring about inciting Hubert’s irritation, Ferdinand had to admit it was impressive._

  
“Ah, see, Petra, you get me! Of course we shouldn’t ignore the Death Knight, but Hubert’s obviously the bigger threat. I’d say we should have at the very least two of our best units with high mobility take care of him,” Claude leans forward to pick up a chess piece placed at random on the map, moving it to a position in front of where they believe Hubert will be, “Lorenz, probably,”

  
Lorenz perks up considerably in his chair, a smug expression on his face, “I believe I should be sufficient to get rid of that pathetic excuse of a noble. Assign another unit to him if you like, but I assure you we will not be needing them,”

  
An air of doubt permeates the room. For as strong as Lorenz is, Ferdinand has seen Hubert’s strength as well, and between the two, he’d pick Hubert as the winner every time.

  
Claude seems to think so, too, because he shakes his head and pulls another chess piece to stand in front of the mini Hubert, “No, it should be at least two. If only to reduce risks. Ferdinand is probably the best choice,”

  
It takes a moment for the words to register, during which the rest of the room seems to move on to discussing another tactic, but once Ferdinand’s mind processes, it goes blank. His eyes zero in on the little white knight positioned in front of the black bishop. He feels dizzy.

  
He stands suddenly, eyes still fixed on the chess pieces, and Claude turns a surprised face to him. Everyone else in the room looks his way as well, and Ferdinand opens his mouth to explain.  
“I should go. I apologize, Claude, but I-There’s a...I have to do something,” his breath leaves him in a shaky rush, and he wastes no time in pushing his chair in and exiting the room, hoping that the desperation he feels does not bleed through every move he makes.

\----------

It was Bernadetta who fell first. Atop the central hill, clutching the mechanisms of the ballista with stubborn determination, refusing to budge an inch even as flames blossomed around her. She was responsible for the deaths of many Alliance soldiers, a fact that Ferdinand is guiltily almost proud of, but in the end she couldn’t defeat them all. It was a lucky (unlucky) arrow to the back that took her down, according to Petra, and even in death she stayed in her position on the ballista.

  
The wood is probably still stained with her blood.

  
He recalls with clarity the words Petra relayed to him later that night, as they sat alone in the dining hall amidst a sea of victory.

  
Wish I could have at least died at home.

  
But what was home to Bernadetta? Late nights at the academy came to mind, after training meals where he happened upon Bernadetta in the dining hall. People are more vulnerable in the early hours of the morning, after all, and he remembers how Bernadetta would open up about her terrible home life, how she felt more at home at the academy than she ever did with her father. Was that still the truth, five years later, as she lay bleeding out on a ballista in a big open field?

  
Ferdinand had excused himself from the festivities early that night, claiming sickness.

\----------

Caspar had gone next, though Linhardt had followed not long after. Ferdinand had once joked about how they were joined at the hip, how where one went the other would follow without hesitation. At the time, Caspar had made a face like sour lemons, and Linhardt had said something about Ferdinand’s penchant for exaggeration. But he had been right, in the end. The two were stationed at Fort Merceus together, and though they were on opposite ends of the battlefield, Ferdinand thinks they died together, too.

  
The look of betrayal on Caspar’s face when he saw Ferdinand amongst their enemies was not something Ferdinand thinks he can forget for the rest of his life. Nor the feel of every blow he landed on him, the piercing sensation of metal meeting flesh nowhere near what their days of wooden spears and swords at the academy had prepared them for.

  
He hadn’t been the one to deal the final blow, thank the goddess, but he was close enough to hear Caspar use his last breath to call out for Linhardt.

  
If they searched the wreckage of Fort Meceus, would they be able to pick out their remains amongst the rest?

  
He had been the one to seek out Petra that time, telling her of his encounter with Caspar. In turn, she relayed the battle against Linhardt. Her voice had been shaky as she recounted his determination to survive, making some joke about his resolve and how he could’ve used it back in their academy days.

  
Five years ago, he would’ve said something about how it’s disrespectful to joke of the dead, unbecoming of a noble of his stature. But it’s been a while since Ferdinand has felt like a noble, so instead he quipped about Caspar’s fighting techniques, how much he had improved.

  
The alternative would be to mourn, and there’s no place for mourning in a war.

\----------

Sometimes he wonders if Felix and Sylvain feel the same as he and Petra do, having faced their former classmates in battle. People they grew up with, shared secrets and experiences with. For them, it had only been one battle, but Gronder Field was a bloody affair, and he can picture all too well their shell-shocked expressions as they realized Dimitri had perished, rather than retreated as they had assumed.

  
Other times he envies them for getting it over with in one go, while he and Petra face the possibility that each new battle may bring an old face.

  
Three down, three to go.

  
Tomorrow they make their move on Enbarr, where no doubt all three lie in wait for them. Perhaps not all together, though he can’t imagine Dorothea would be too removed from Edelgard’s side. Should all go as planned, by the end of the week, Ferdinand and Petra will be the last remaining members of the Black Eagle House of 1180.

\----------

Petra shows up at his door eventually, though it’s of no surprise to Ferdinand. Her knocks are quiet, her voice even more so, but he can hear her clearly even through the thick wood of the door.

  
“Ferdinand? I am wanting to know if you are doing okay,”

  
Reluctantly, he stands from his bed and opens the door to let her in, closing it behind her as she enters.

  
The first thing he notices is that she’s carrying a tray, laden with sweets, a teapot, and cups. There’s also a small bag on it that he immediately recognizes from their academy days. Containing numerous hair accessories, it was a staple of all their late night hangouts.

  
Petra sets the tray down on his desk and moves to sit on the bed, taking the bag with her. Without a word, Ferdinand begins preparing the tea, noting that the water has already been brought to a boil and the tea leaves set aside are his favorite.

  
Leave it to Petra to remember such a small detail after five years.

  
“I would be preparing the tea myself, but you prefer to do it, if my memory is correct,” Petra says, opening her bag and pulling hair ties out of it.

  
It’s all achingly familiar, a ritual they did often during their days at the academy. Back then it was always Ferdinand clumsily braiding Petra’s hair as she guided him through words while Petra could only put silly clips and ribbons in his, but he realizes that for once Petra can reciprocate.

  
He can wager a guess as to why neither of them have attempted to re-establish the activity since the war started, but he’s grateful for the chance to do so now.

  
When the tea is brewed, he moves the tray over to the bed, climbing on it himself after Petra scoots back and crosses her legs, leaving room for him. He tries to face her like usual, but she motions for him to turn his back to her instead.

  
It’s...weird, feeling Petra take his hair in her hands and begin braiding it. But not in a bad way, just new. He finds it rather soothing, sipping tea while Petra’s fingers expertly braid his hair, calming him considerably after the events of earlier.

  
Petra doesn’t pry, and he never expected her to, but he almost wishes she would if only to make finding the words easier. He knows he should explain his weird behavior, at least to her, and it’s doubtful that she wouldn’t understand his feelings.

  
It’s just a little difficult to open his mouth and let the words out.

  
“Hubert likes coffee,” is how he chooses to start, and immediately he realizes how stupid a statement it is. It’s perhaps the worst way he could bring up the topic, and no doubt Petra will question his meaning.

  
“Bernadetta likes sweetcakes,” Petra murmurs, instead, “Caspar likes small candies, Linhardt likes sweet teas, and Dorothea-,” she cuts off with a sharp breath, and the hands currently in his hair grasp a little tighter than Ferdinand thinks she intended.

  
“And Dorothea likes chocolate,” she finishes, voice no louder than a whisper, hands resuming their task.

  
A sudden wave of gratitude rushes through Ferdinand, that Petra understands so completely that even his idiotic statement could make sense. And why would she not understand? She is experiencing the same things as he is, after all.

  
“They are...were friends. People I came to know like the back of my hand. There was once a time where I thought I would die for any one of them,” he breathes out shakily, and one of Petra’s hands moves to his shoulder to squeeze it.

  
“They are the enemy now, but,” she returns the hand to his hair, “our allies talking with casualness about killing them is jarring. And difficult,”

  
“Even now, knowing that some of them are gone, and that the others are actively trying to kill us, I manage to forget when I see something that reminds me of them. And then, of course, I inevitably remember the reality of our circumstances,”

  
Petra shifts slightly behind him, forcing Ferdinand to tilt his head back a bit. Her hands are shaking, he notices.

  
“The situation is...not ideal. Being from Brigid, I am always aware that war is possible. But I was with much hope that such things would not come to pass. Now that it has, it is even more hard that the enemy is wearing a familiar face,”

  
A question burns in the back of Ferdinand’s mind, one he’s wanted to ask Petra ever since they met back up at Garreg Mach the day before the millenium festival and it became clear they were the only two former Black Eagle members to choose Claude over Edelgard.

  
“Do you regret siding against the Empire?”

Petra is quiet for a long moment, and the hands in his hair still and pull away. Worry blooms in Ferdinand’s chest, but before he can take it back Petra speaks

  
“It brings me great difficulty fighting people I know so well, for people I know not so well. I am feeling blood on my hands, Ferdinand, with each step we take towards the capital. It is not by my blade that Bernadetta, Caspar, Linhardt fell, and yet I cannot help thinking otherwise. I do not wish to fight them anymore,” her voice wavers, then. Her hands return to his hair, but they can’t be doing much aesthetically, because they’re shaking even more than before.

  
“But I must,” she finishes, resolute. Ferdinand breathes out a sigh of relief at the words.

  
“What other choice do we have, after all?” he whispers, setting his teacup down and pushing the tray away. Behind him, Petra hums, tugging on his hair to signal she’s done. They switch positions, so Ferdinand is now the one facing Petra’s back, and he begins his own work on her hair.

  
“It is insensitive to ask, Ferdinand, but I am wanting to know…,” Petra begins, and Ferdinand feels dread pool in his stomach, “we have been having these strategy meetings for a long time now, and you have never reacted this way before,”

  
He can tell what she’s trying to ask, even if she doesn’t come out and say it outright. Still, it’s not something he wishes to discuss. Partially because it’s not something he should discuss in the current climate at the monastery, for fear of being branded a potential enemy spy.

But Petra is Petra, and he knows he can trust her.

  
“I went to see Hubert,” he murmurs, as quietly as he can while still ensuring Petra can hear, “around a year ago,”  
Petra is silent for a moment, before, “Ah,”

  
“I scarcely know what I was thinking. Perhaps that his loyalty to Edelgard was no so foolproof that he could not be swayed to stand against her. It was,” he scoffs, “a foolish thought, in retrospect,”

  
“You were missing him,” Petra states, voice soft.

  
Almost immediately, a wave of nausea threatens to overcome Ferdinand, the statement so ridiculously simple and insane, and yet…

  
He can hardly believe he failed to realize it until this moment, that it took Petra pointing it out for him to understand exactly why he sought out Hubert last year. The idea scares him, makes him fear what tomorrow will bring even more than before.

  
Petra must notice something wrong, because she reaches a hand behind her to grasp at his knee, a strange attempt at comfort that somehow works. Ferdinand catches his breath, manages to steady his hands enough to continue braiding Petra’s hair, and blinks back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes.

  
“I...suppose I was. The entire time I’ve known him, he’s been clear about his distaste for me. I was most certainly his least favorite person at the academy. I always thought that was the extent of our relationship. The two future advisors of Edelgard, constantly at war with each other. But I-,” he bites his lip, willing his emotions to stay in check, “The idiot I am, I did not even realize...I missed him terribly,”

  
The braid he’s working into Petra’s thick hair looks absolutely horrendous, rivalling the work of his first few attempts, but in all fairness it’s rather difficult to work when experiencing emotional turmoil.

  
“I stayed for about a week. Ridiculous, really, I was, by the very definition, a traitor, and yet I thought it safe to stay in the house of Hubert von Vestra for a full week. How I was not caught is a mystery in and of itself, for I’m sure he did not keep my presence a secret from Edelgard,”

  
Petra makes an odd humming sound as he says this, so he pauses, allowing her to speak. She remains silent, however, so he continues.

  
“The whole time I was there...it was downright pleasant, somehow. Hubert was...amicable, to say the least. He was still Hubert, good old cold, logical, brutally honest Hubert, but we...it was...good,”

  
“The last night I was there I...asked him to come with me. My thinking was clouded at the time, it was late and I was exhausted and I somehow managed to convince myself that it was possible he would say yes,” he cuts himself off there, worried to say anything else. He drops his hands from Petra’s hair, braid done, looking about as awful as he figured it would.

  
“You are wishing he said yes,”

  
“More than anything,” he chokes out, vision blurring from tears that he tries to hold back. Petra reaches her hand behind her to grasp his own, squeezing it tightly. It’s an inconsequential gesture, in the long run. It won’t change Hubert’s answer. Won’t bring back Bernadetta, Caspar, Linhardt. Won’t make it so that Edelgard never started this senseless war. But...in the moment, Ferdinand finds himself overwhelmingly grateful that when the time came to choose, Petra chose to support Claude, too.

  
“He made the choice of Edelgard, just as Dorothea and the others did. And we made the choice of Claude. But in a different circumstance, I may have also chose Edelgard. Thinking of that, it is difficult to find anger for them, only sadness,”

  
“I feel as though I have had enough sorrow to last a lifetime. I could do with some anger,” Ferdinand mutters, bitterly.

  
“I...cannot disagree. When I am thinking about facing Dorothea, the sadness becomes hindering. It would be better with anger. Easier,”

  
“But it is not as simple as that, is it? It is never as simple as that. War is never simple,”

  
“No,” Petra agrees, “war is never simple,”

  
She pulls Ferdinand’s hand forward to wrap around her front, grasping it with her other hand. He grips it tightly, leaning his head forward to rest on her back. The position is a little awkward, but at the moment, he can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

  
“If any consolation is to be had, Ferdinand,” Petra whispers, “I am glad to be fighting beside you. You are a good friend,”

  
He considers tomorrow, the harsh battle they will endure. The inevitably of facing Hubert, for the first time since that night a year ago. The thought still sickens him, and he doubts it will ever stop feeling that way.

  
But he thinks that perhaps he could be okay, so long as Petra is with him.

  
“Thank you,” he murmurs, and for the first time since the war began, he feels at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> idk who byleth is sorry they joined the golden deer cuz they thought claude was really cool  
thanks for reading! :D


End file.
